


Sherlock's Turn

by SailorChibi



Series: Caring For John [4]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Blowjobs, D/s, Dirty Talk, Dom!Sherlock, Dom/sub, Established Relationship, Handcuffs, Light Bondage, M/M, Rutting, Sub!John, Tumblr Fic, but why not make it fun for all, consensual D/S, it's basically just sherlock's turn, mentions of punishment (spanking), series: caring for john
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-13
Updated: 2013-10-13
Packaged: 2017-12-29 07:29:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,493
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1002637
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SailorChibi/pseuds/SailorChibi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Things have cooled off a little between John and Sherlock recently, and John decides he's not ready to give up the one thing he's always craved. How can Sherlock resist the sight of his sub, ready and waiting, cuffed on his knees?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sherlock's Turn

**Author's Note:**

> This has been a long time coming! I'm releasing it early as a thank you to my tumblr followers, having reached 300 (which is, like, 299 more than I ever thought I'd get).

It's just getting on towards dark when John finishes making the final preparations. Mouth pursed in thought, he stands in the doorway and tries to remember whether he's forgotten anything. Nothing comes immediately to mind. There's a pillow from his bed on the floor beside the sofa and a couple of tubes hidden between the cushions, not that he expects it to get that far. The mess from Sherlock's experiments have been tidied away as much as possible. He's darkened the room, letting the only light come from the thin strip of fading sunlight coming in through the curtains and the fire popping in the grate, and removed most of his clothing until he's bare foot and dressed only in a pair of loose jeans.

A set of handcuffs are lying on the chair. He picks them up, running his fingers along the familiar cool metal. They're not exactly what he had in mind, as for one thing he's pretty sure they were lifted off Lestrade at some point, but for this they will do. It's not like he had time to run out to the local toy shop while Sherlock was (temporarily) preoccupied with prepping some new contacts in his homeless network. He's been gone for most of the day and John suspects he'll be back soon. He sinks down into his chair and rests the cuffs on his leg, trying to ignore the way his knee trembles faintly beneath the light pressure. He has no idea how Sherlock is going to respond to this, whether it will be favourable or - not.

After all it's been nearly two weeks since Sherlock has really touched him, never mind putting him under. Ever since their little talk about boundaries things have cooled off significantly, and John can't tell whether Sherlock's lost interest or just got oddly cautious about what lines he's allowed to cross. Frankly, he doesn't care. He traces a finger over the warming metal idly, thinking that, having had a taste of what it's like to have something he always wanted, he's having difficulty living without it. He's jerked off in the shower more time over the past few days than he can count, but it's not really helping. He wants to feel Sherlock's hands, hear that deep voice telling him what to do.

Hopefully this will go a long way towards earning that back.

The sound of the downstairs door opening and closing piques his attention. Quickly he stands up and hooks one metal cuff around his wrist, then slides his hands behind his back and snaps the other one into place. Even a little experimental tug is enough to tell him he won't be getting free without aid; he doesn't have Sherlock's experience in escaping from handcuffs. Then again if this goes the way he's hoping that won't really be a concern. Just as the door to the flat swings open, John lets himself fall to his knees.

Sherlock stops. Whatever he's about to say never comes out. His mouth opens but he remains silent, eyes widening. 

In spite of himself, John feels a little flush of triumph. It's not often Sherlock Holmes is struck speechless. He lowers his head, not wanting Sherlock to deduce as much from his face, and says quietly, "I remember my safe word. Hound."

And god, just saying that word brings back the memory of the first time Sherlock had ordered him to pick a safe word and the punishment after John failed to obey. His bottom had been warm from the spanking for hours afterwards. His cheeks flush and he shifts, realizing that the half erection he's had for the past hour is quickly swelling with interest. He takes a deep breath in an effort to calm himself down, because for the first time tonight is not about him.

It's about Sherlock.

"I realize," he continues, "that we haven't done... this... for a while, and I miss it. I thought I could be of use for you tonight. Sir." He glances up through his eyelashes, pleased to see the shocked look on Sherlock's face slowly fading into one of arousal. It never stops giving him a jolt, the realization that he can effect Sherlock this way. "I thought you could take your pleasure. From me."

"I see," Sherlock says at last, and then he proceeds to ignore John entirely, removing his gloves and coat and scarf and actually properly putting them away. Realistically it's probably just a ploy to give himself some time to become more collected, having been blindsided by John's plan, but it only makes John that much more desperate to capture his attention. He fights against the urge to squirm, to crawl closer and beg until Sherlock looks at him again. His hands clench into fists, because this is harder than he'd anticipated.

Finally, Sherlock turns around to face him. “You want this.”

John knows Sherlock well enough to realize when he’s asking a question without really asking it. “Yes.”

“And if I were to turn away?”

“If that’s what you want,” says John, unable to hide his reluctance.

“What if I were to take my pleasure from you and then I left you there? Bound and wanting?” 

“If that’s what you want.” The words come out a little breathless this time, and his jeans are hurting now from the pressure. 

“What I want,” Sherlock repeats, more to himself than John, expression thoughtful. He prowls forward, stepping a graceful circle around John to look his leisure. It’s physical, the heat from that gaze, prickling John’s bare skin with gooseflesh. He represses a shiver.

The initial touch is light, fingers barely passing over the top of his head, slipping briefly into his hair before moving away. Sherlock comes to a stop directly in front of him. His eyes have brightened, light flush settling across his cheekbones, though whether it’s arousal or from the test of figuring John out it’s difficult to tell. John lets his body lean forward, pressing his cheek against Sherlock’s crotch. He tilts his head to rub with a soft sound, intent more clear than if he’d bothered to speak. 

“I think what I want is for you to suck me off while you rub yourself to completion against my leg.”

John’s eyes widen, a choked moan cutting off sharply when he clamps his lips shut. The idea is both filthy and tantalizing. Sherlock has never been so brazen, so out-spoken: until now their explorations have been mostly touch, hardly shy – not after what Sherlock did to him at Scotland Yard – but still learning. It’s hardly surprising that Sherlock is introducing a new element, though. The man _lives_ for words, thrives on wielding them to both impress and cut and now, apparently, to melt John’s brain.

Cool air against his cheek brings him out of the lust filled images. Sherlock is backing up towards his chair, thumb popping open the button his jeans. He sees John watching and smiles lazily, drawing the zip down with long fingers. John shuffles towards him eagerly, barely noticing the pain in his knees and forgetting the nearby pillow entirely, as Sherlock sits, leaving his lower half clothed. He spreads his thighs, just enough room for John to get in between, and slides his right leg between John’s. It can’t be comfortable but then Sherlock’s spent several hours in worse positions.

Leaning down, John nuzzles his face against Sherlock’s clothed erection. Already he can feel his mind fuzzing over, the desire to please Sherlock the only thing consuming him. He mouths at the cotton, letting it grow damp with his spit, as the flesh beneath begins to plump. He can feel the heat against his chin, but that makes it no less easy to get to: though Sherlock has opened his jeans his boxers are still a barrier. He grips the band of the boxers in his teeth and pulls, leaning back until he can work it down around Sherlock’s prick. It springs up, already hardening, and he lets go of the band without thinking.

Sherlock jumps. “John!” Fingers tangle in his hair, pulling admonishingly, and John goes still. The grip remains tight for a long moment before easing. “Be more cautious.” And there’s an underlying threat there, and he still has not forgotten Sherlock’s threats to spank him again but he doesn’t think a soft, wanting moan is the response Sherlock is looking for.

“Not all punishment will be that welcome,” Sherlock says, no doubt knowing exactly what he’s thinking of. He looks amused. “Continue, and if you do well…” His foot nudges against John’s thigh, too far away for him to rut against, but serving as a reminder of what he might be able to earn.

Speaking doesn’t feel right, so John settles for a nod. He waits until Sherlock’s fingers press against the back of his head in silent invitation before leaning in and parting his lips. Warmth settles onto his tongue and the tension in Sherlock’s hips ease, letting him squirm a little closer still. He can’t go deep, but he remembers to flatten his lips over his teeth and builds up some saliva to make his mouth hot and inviting. He hasn't done this for a very long time and it's more awkward then he remembered, his knees aching, but then he glances up at Sherlock.

Jesus. If John weren't drooling already, thin streams of saliva sneaking down his jaw that he can't wipe away, he would be now. Sherlock has his eyes shut and is breathing deeply, clearly fighting to remain in control. His cheeks are flushed a light shade of pink, like there's just not enough extra blood in his body to turn them a shade darker. Dark curls frame his face, sticking to his skin from the sweat beading up across his forehead, and his hair looks damp and messy, mouth pressed into a firm line and even as John watches Sherlock licks his lips slowly. An unintentional whimper from John makes Sherlock groan loudly at the vibration around his cock, his eyes opening.

John stares back at him, enraptured by the look in his eyes. Despite how cold he can be, Sherlock's eyes are always expressive and right now they're making it perfectly clear how much Sherlock is enjoying this. He swallows around the length in his throat, unable to bear the scrutiny, letting his own eyes close as his nose makes impact with pubic hair. The smell is fragrant and musky, sweat from a day's work, and he chokes just a little before pulling back. He breathes in deep and presses his tongue to the tip, Sherlock's hips jumping at the briefer contact, before kissing his way down to the base.

"John," Sherlock says, and oh god he sounds utterly _wrecked_. "I wish you could see what you look like right now, down on your knees with your hands pinned behind your back. You look filthy, like there's nowhere else in the world that you would rather be. And I know that's the truth, I can see it in the way you look at me." There's a note of awe in his voice that makes John moan. "I will never understand how your previous lovers could pass this up. You're _magnificent_."

The leg between his thighs shifts, coming into unexpected contact with his erection, and John jumps this time. The pressure is firm and he whines, beyond speech, rocking his hips against Sherlock's shin. Even though his eyes are still shut, he can tell that Sherlock is smiling when he says, "You are not to come before I do, John, and since I don't think you can hold on for much longer you'd best hurry up."

He's right. It's not just the feeling of rubbing off against something, though that's definitely helping. It's everything. Being on his knees in the sitting room where anyone could walk in and see. Sherlock above him, John below. His hands, pinned behind his back, and the cuffs that are making his flesh sting because he can't help struggling. He wants to touch Sherlock, use more than just his mouth, and the fact that he can't is only adding to his desperation. His knees are throbbing but even that only sends him higher, the dull pain a liquid backdrop the spiralling pleasure humming through his veins and blanketing his mind. 

"Hurry, John," Sherlock murmurs.

Helpless to do anything but obey, John takes the prick back into his mouth and bobs his head. It's difficult to establish a rhythm when his mind is so clouded, but he tries. He tries, and maybe Sherlock realizes how hard he's trying because he begins moving his leg to help. For every toe-curling shift of Sherlock's leg up John slides down and then back, and he can tell that he's not going to make it and he makes a desperate sound. Sherlock breathes in deep and then his hips begin to move, like maybe he can't hold back anymore either, and he starts fucking John's mouth in earnest and using his hand to keep John from pulling away. 

If he could speak John would beg, but he can't. His jaw aches and he whimpers again, the sound muffled by the thick cock stretching his mouth open, but Sherlock hears it anyway or maybe he's already at the breaking point when John forces his eyes open and looks up at him. He's nearly silent when he comes, one strangled sound that might be John's name fighting through his clenched teeth, his fingers tight in John's hair. John coughs and gasps as come floods his mouth, swallowing as much as he can and freely letting the rest dribble from the corners of his mouth, barely noticing in the wash of his own orgasm which is coming closer even though he's trying to hold back because Sherlock hasn't said -

"Now. Come now."

John's lost. He sobs, falling against Sherlock's knee as he completely blanks out, overwhelmed and shuddering, making a mess of his jeans. The hand in his hair turns soothing, stroking and gentle, and when it's over and he can't move Sherlock grips him under the arms and lifts John's limp body into his lap. He skilfully slips John's jeans and the handcuffs off, depositing them on the floor, and then lets John lay there, exhausted and dazed. This is becoming a thing between the two of them but John is beginning to realize that there is really nowhere else he would rather be. He turns his head and tucks his cold nose against Sherlock's shoulder, still shivering with the occasional spark of pleasure.

"Was that... okay?" he mumbles after several minutes have passed.

Sherlock chuckles. "Surely you can deduce that it was," he says, sounding a little amused and a lot affectionate. The pleased tone is enough to make John smile sleepily as he curls closer. 

He thinks he can consider this plan a success.

**Author's Note:**

> Don't forget to [follow](http://tsuki-chibi.tumblr.com/) me on tumblr!


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